


The Deed of Right and Wrong

by shelby_love



Series: Anthony Bridgerton [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Bridgerton, Bridgerton (TV) - Freeform, Bridgerton Family Feels, Bridgertons Being Bridgertons, F/M, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), Jealous Anthony Bridgerton, Protective Anthony Bridgerton, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelby_love/pseuds/shelby_love
Summary: In which Anthony fell for a marchioness of high status, and doesn't plan on letting her go.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton & Reader, Anthony Bridgerton & You, Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Anthony Bridgerton x You, Anthony Bridgerton/Reader, Anthony Bridgerton/You
Series: Anthony Bridgerton [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149341
Kudos: 48





	1. Wrongly Courted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The season has started, and you are the talk of the walk. Having no brother to protect you from potential un-suitors, you lean against your closest friend. Though, not even her protection can last forever. But whose to say Daphne Bridgerton might just assign her eldest brother to keep you safe?

_Word has spread to your Author that the Whitgan ball, hosted Friday night held an appropriate amount of glitz fit only for the highest of nobility._

_It has not escaped This Author's notice that Y/FN Y/LN, 6th Marquess of Cambridge arrived earlier this week with his family in a very humble escort of 6 carriages. Very humble indeed. Rumor has it that her Ladyship Y/N Y/LN slept peacefully in one of the carriages, unbeknownst to her that she, along with Daphne Bridgerton is said to be what we, my dear reader, call "The Diamond of the season"._

_After just one ball and the courtesy of a single dance at the hand of Y/N Y/LN, Oliver Greenwill was seen buying a diamond ring. With too many seasons to count on mere fingers, the senior of a man and a Lord has laid his eyes on the young Marchioness, perhaps finally finding a suitable bride._

_Oh, the horror!_

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS

"If anything, I think she quite likes you."

You pretended to cry as you plopped on the sofa Daphne was sitting, "Daphne!"

"What?" She replied with a teasing smile, holding the society papers on her lap in a way fit for a lady. "I for one, have never seen her show anything but—"

"I believe the word you are looking for is _hatred_."

"That is not true," she said.

You bore a sigh, running your hands over your silky dress. "The only thing that is stopping my father from marrying me off is the fact that I was named the Diamond of the season."

Daphne's brows narrowed in confusion, "Oliver Greenwill is merely just a baron. Father believes I will be courted by someone of higher status."

"Like who?"

"The duke."

"But the duke does not wish to marry," she replied, "Anthony said so himself."

At the mention of her brother's name, you felt yourself stiffen, looking around without so much as gracing your closest friend with your eyes. Memories of the past year rushing into your brain, so you almost blushed, "And I do not wish to marry the duke either!"

You stood up abruptly, back turned to Daphne as you paced around the lavishly decorated room, sneaking a sweet in your mouth every so often. "He asked for a dance three times Daphne! Though I told him it is improper. But the man did not care."

"He did not," she murmured with wide eyes, knowing very well what can be spread when news hit that a woman danced with the same partner twice. Or even worse… Thrice! "You must tell your father."

You shook your head, "My father does not care."

_But my brother does_ , Daphne thought.

***

Standing next to your mother, you watched as ladies your age and younger danced with men of all ages. It scared you, the thought of meeting Oliver's eyes somewhere amongst the crowd. It was very well known that your mother was too smitten with the thought of marrying you that she, quite frankly, did not care who asked for your hand in dance so long as he looked presentable. Likewise, it wasn't going to be hard for the old man to seek you out while you weren't protected with your marquess of a father.

"You ought to seek someone's eyes Y/N," your mother's voice sliced through the silence that overcame you. "There are fine gentlemen everywhere."

You tried not to reply sarcastically the best in your ability and instead straightened your spine the same way your mother did, doing absolutely everything in your power to look like a regal marchioness that you were.

"Lady Bridgerton!" Your mother suddenly exclaimed, turning around swiftly.

Relieved to hear the ‘Lady’ before the last name, you turned around to meet the loving eyes of Violet Bridgerton. Next to her stood Daphne, smiling lightly at you. Though unfortunately, on her arm was her eldest brother, a devilishly handsome viscount you knew to be Anthony.

Swallowing, you greeted them politely while evading Anthony's eyes at all costs.

The last time the two of you breathed the same air, you were completely and utterly…

Alone.

_Unchaperoned_.

Your mother had stars in her eyes as she took in the tall viscount, seeing him in a completely new light now that her daughter was to be married this season.

There wasn't a doubt in your mind that your father would've been pleased with the match to say the least. Especially since Edmund Bridgerton was one of his closest of friends.

"Lady Y/LN," Anthony murmured, taking a hold of your gloved hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

You felt your knees weaken at the act but managed to perform a short, polite curtsy despite the symptoms. Anthony Bridgerton was always so attractive to you, ever since you've known him in all honesty.

But it felt as though it was too much even for you to want a rake like himself to settle down with you, no matter how much you thought you were perfect together.

When he stole your first kiss a year ago, he made no effort to settle, even while knowing that you might've been seen together and that your honor was tainted because of him.

Just then, your mother nudged your side, urging you to follow her line of vision with the action. You felt your face grown green at the realization that Oliver Greenwill was in fact there, eagerly looking around the ballroom for you.

"Mama…" You started slowly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. She raised her hand to stop you.

"What is the matter, Y/MN?" Asked Lady Bridgerton, glancing at your mother before casting her gaze on you. "Are you alright dear?"

"Lord Greenwill made quite the scandal today," your mother started lowly, explaining the event she was yet to tell her close friend while brushing off your paleness by saying it was simply caused by nerves. "Arriving at our mansion, saying how he needs less than a fortnight to court our daughter!"

Violet and Daphne gasped softly, making several heads turn your way. Both your mother and you plastered on wide smiles, before your mother lowered her voice again to tell the remains of the story to the Bridgertons.

You stole a glance at Anthony, looking at his dark features that had your heart skipping a beat. He looked as impeccable as he always did. What you did not know was that looking at you while he listened to what your mother spoke about had his heart tightening in chest.

It had finally occurred to him that you being courted was not something he wanted to live through. Without a second thought, his sister’s nudge of encouragement being the last straw, Anthony extended his hand toward you, looking at how Oliver trekked toward your modest huddle from the corner of his eye. "I do hope you will favor me this dance, Lady Y/LN, if you are not already engaged for the dance that is."

"O—of course, my Lord," you said shyly, not quite believing your ears. His suddenness surprising you.

"Good." Said Anthony simply, throwing a one last glance at Lord Greenwill before he dragged you onto the dance floor, leaving the two mamas and sister to plan a wedding amongst themselves.

"Pry tell," he said, his feet matching yours under the familiar rhythm of the music. "Why Lord Greenwill keeps chasing you around?"

"The same reason Lord Berbrooke is chasing your sister," you replied quite dryly, "He wishes to marry me."

His jaw clenches under severe pressure, your words hitting him in the nerve. "Will you?"

"Will I what Anthony?"

Anthony's eyes fell on your face, quite aloofly. For a moment, you thought about stepping on his foot for the mere fun of it. "Marry him."

You failed to seek words, instead dropping your gaze to your locked hands, moving along to the rhythm on instinct. "Y/N I beg of you. Answer me."

"What do you want me to say my Lord?" You asked meekly, feeling your eyes gather with unshed tears. "That I will marry some old man despite having my heart stolen by another? Or that I will not?"

"That night—"

"Lower your voice my Lord." You reminded him, "People are staring."

"I am not your Lord!" He barked, hands tightening around you until you were even closer to him. Scandalously closer. "That night—"

"Was never supposed to happen."

"God grant me endless patience," Anthony exhaled, "Let me finish!"

You stepped on his foot, quite hard. Watching him as his face twisted at the pain was amusing to say the least. "Do continue."

Anthony took a deep breath, deciding to just say the words in fear of being stepped on again. "I do not regret anything about that night."

Your remarks seemed to have evaporated into thin air, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise.

_Oh, how he wished to kiss them._

The music seemed to come to a harmonious end at that moment, the couples that were issued on the dance floor twirling into an ending pose. Anthony was dangerously close to you, hidden from ambitious mamas by being in the middle of the ballroom floor with you. He leaned in, so close to your ear you felt his breath against your neck. The action was so sensual, and you have never experienced such pleasure before. The rake whispered, "I will be coming for you tomorrow."


	2. A Fair Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Anthony to do what he promised; woo you off your feet and take your hand before any other suitor. Only your father refuses to make it any easier for him.

You dared yourself to sneak out into the night of your mansion's hallways, determined to find out more about your future. "Please, Miss Y/N, someone might see."

Ignoring the pleads of your maid, you continued your trek down the stairs, adorned in only your nightrail and dressing gown, both equally white. The moonlight illuminating through the windows was your only source of light, as both you and your maid were too frightened to bring a candle to your escapade. 

You kept stopping every so often in fear that someone was lurking around your very own home. With a hand on your chest at all times, you fought the loud thuds of your heart. You weren't hiding per se, only preserving yourself along with the remains of your dignity as a lady in case your father decided the leave the comfort of his study and take a walk around the halls you roamed around.

It was very unladylike, what you convinced your maid to do. 

"Grace!" You hissed, swiftly turning your head to glower at her. You loved Grace like you would a sister and she knew that, _however_ the fact didn’t make your glare any less intimidating. The brunette frantically tapped her foot against the floor, and you never felt so relieved to see the velvet under it. "Please do not fret. Nobody is going to see us."

"My Lady you do not know such things!" She uttered into your ear.

Sighing, you knew there was no way around her and her vexing. She was right in a way, but your determination was set in stone. "We have an agenda, and we must stick to it!"

A loud crack was heard just as you started to lower down, sounding as if it came from just _under_ the grand stairwell. The petite girl grabbed your shoulders, hurling you against the floor in a haste to hide you and your snowy white night dress.

You felt like a dead woman as she kept handling you with shaky hands, praying to her God in the process. It didn’t take long for you to come to a simple conclusion right then and there.

_Grace was not carved out to be a murderer._

Neither were you, but you marginalized that particular fact for the time being.

Whilst hiding under Grace’s body, twisted in a way that would help you lie _against_ the stairs, you opened an eye and sneakily directed it through the railing, moving it around until you spotted your father's head and dazzling royal blue suit. He didn't look like he was going to bed anytime soon as he discussed things with the butler. If you could, you would've squinted your ears to hear better.

Thankfully, Grace was there to repeat everything. Several different words brushed to your ears. Viscount, baron, earl…

_Haste_! He said must make haste!

"What must make—"

The girl clasped her hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming further.

"Gracjfe—"

"Hush my lady!" She whispered urgently, "Or we _shall_ be heard!"

You went limp immediately, really starting to feel like a dead person. Perhaps not even a person. A dead little bird was better fitted for your situation. A bird that was stuck in a cage and died in it. 

Frustrated to have your mobility taken away and have your thoughts invaded with pictures of birds, you lightly banged your curled fists against the carpet.

Your father's voice becomes muffled after a while. You can no longer make out what he's saying and only when the doors of his office close with a loud thud does Grace let you go. After helping you sit back up, she dropped to her knees and kept running her pale hands over your dress as if doing so would undo the creases she gave you. "Please tell me father will not do what I think he will."

"I'm afraid I cannot do so, my Lady."

Groaning, you fell back on the floor, completely ignoring the way Grace tugged at your arms to get you back up. "Why does father wish to make me miserable!"

"I do not know, my Lady," said Grace, sighing and sitting next to you on the stairs for a while. "Forgive me for being so…forceful."

You brushed her off with a shrug, feeling the pain in your back reduce to a minimum the more you moved your shoulders around. Aside from reddened elbows, and maybe a light bruise, you came out of the whole ordeal feeling just fine. "I am _sure_ we will be able to give Anthony a perfectly reasonable justification."

She gasped at the thought of him seeing your bare back before he even courted you properly, "My Lady!"

"What?" You drawled, secretly enjoying the look of horror on her face. She didn't suspect a thing. "We are to be married after all."

"You do not know that…" She replied, "You just came from the ball this evening!"

"Well, I _hope_ Grace!" You said, "And I worry too," Your hands braced the carpet and you pulled yourself up without any help, "And with him worry appears to be a constant! Is this the life a wife must live and endure?"

"I'm afraid so, my lady."

"Well, I do not like it. Come, Grace. Let us get some sleep."

***

The next morning, you fought every fiber in your body to not tap your foot against the carpet the same way Grace did just hours before. Your family drawing room was filled to the brim with flowers of various shapes and sizes; a customary tradition after a night of dancing with half of London's most eligible bachelors.

Your mother walked around the room, done up in a silky pale green dress, admiring the cards attached to the flowers. She enjoyed the sight of your name on every card. "Violet's boy sure does have taste," she mused, holding up a bouquet of the finest and freshest roses. The flowers were without a doubt hand-picked and hand-crafted to be the best possible gift.

Your mother summoned you to her side with a mere flip of hand, "Come darling. I must show you this."

"Yes mama?"

She pointed an elegant finger toward a rose, "This is the Provence rose. It says, _'My heart is in flames._ '"

You blushed, not quite believing she would joke with you so early in the morning, "Mama stop with this nonsense at once."

A joyfull laugh slipped past her lips, "Do you perhaps not trust your mama? Look, look… Pink symbolizes grace, sophistication, and elegance my dear. And this yellow rose… _Jealousy_."

You rolled your eyes, "Mama how do you know of this?" 

She hummed to herself, deciding on discarding the flowers onto the table, "Your father used the same trick on me."

"Did it work?"

Your mother glanced at you with a sly smile, brushing her eyes over your body as if the action gave you all the answers. "I do not know. You tell me."

Watching as your mother seemed to glide along the carpet gracefully, picking and smelling flowers that were sprawled all over the room was amusing to say the least. Her nasty looks toward the bouquets of pale pink tulips would surely help her cut the list of your suitors by half. "If Lord Simmons really wished to marry my only daughter then perhaps he would know of my reaction to... _tulips_."

The housekeeper nodded eagerly, running after your mother. "These flowers are quite grotesque. Arabella take them out."

You glanced at the roses that were approved by your mother, enjoying knowing the fact that Anthony put some effort into finding you a perfect bouquet. But not even you could fight against the suspicion that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

With a good reason too. You haven’t kissed the viscount in a year! Only God and perhaps Lady Whistledown knew what he was truly up to for the last year. Realistically, maybe he forgot the way your lips felt. 

You touched them with the tips of your fingers, feeling awfully unlady-like at that moment. The way he acted last night surely meant _something_. "Grace, do you think he pulled this trick on other women too?"

Your maid shook her head, her pretty smile beginning to make you uncomfortable. "Out with it already! You know I cannot stand that look!"

She pulled out something from behind her back.

You could recognize _it_ anywhere.

_Everyone reading this column knows of what this Author likes to call: Overbearing Un-Suitors. This Author wishes no lady such immerse ache, especially this early into the open season. Though, dearest of readers, not even this Author is all powerful. And while this Author was not an eyewitness, the attention required for the news to be brought upon this very paper was caught. Quite harshly at that._

_It has come to this Author's attention that Marchioness Y/N Y/LN stole the hearts of many Londoner bachelors. Though, that fact is surely known to all. Read back a few sentences and you shall be reminded of the Overbearing Un-Suitors._

_They are knocking on her doors, alright? Oliver Greenwill wore his best knee breeches for the occasion, or so this Author has heard..._

_Perhaps, Lord Bridgerton will grace the young Marchioness with his presence and save her from this tainted fate._

_This Author begs him to do so, and it will be the last time she does._

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS

"Grace, she hates me!"

"She does not, milady!" The girl was quick to point out, taking the paper before you could scan over the remains of the page. "I can assure you... She does not hate you! Hate is a strong word."

"A caller for miss Y/N."

Your mother was at the door immediately, "Who is it?!"

"Lord Thorne, my Lady."

You felt your face fall, father’s secretive talks with thar very same butler were rushing to your brain.

"At least he is not the baron, though he is not Violet's eldest boy either," your mother summarized with a sigh; the disappointment was obvious. " _Nevertheless_ , Joseph. Call him in."

Matching your mother the best in your ability, you twitched your lips until a bright smile colored your face. It was standard procedure, smiling like you were the happiest woman in the world.

Grace grimaced when she met your eyes and the smile vanished in an instant.

You tried again, increasing the curve at levels.

_One…Two…_

Grace nodded enthusiastically.

"Grace this is no good," you whispered hurriedly, watching her nod subtly as a response. "He is an Earl… _Earl_!"

"Your father really is a vile man."

"That he is, Grace. That he is."

"Should you think Lord Bridgerton can play his game well?"

"He better!"

***

You couldn't hate the Earl.

You tried to and failed. _Miserably_.

He was your father's secret weapon and if your father wished for his secret weapon to not be hated then...

That’s exactly what he got!

"You don't have a brother, do you?"

"No, I do not," you announced with a level 2 smile, clutching your reticule between your hands as the Earl and you walked down toward Hyde Park. "Though I wish I do. What about you, my Lord?"

Rickard was his name, and he replied with a dashing smile.

You cursed at it! Damn his pretty smile and incredibly white teeth! _Damn them, damn them, damn—_

"Did you say something, my Lady?"

You shook your head, surprise coloring your face. "O—of course not my Lord! I just lost myself in the scenery. Do continue, I must say you have the entirety of my attention."

He chuckled, continuing to go on for miles about his three brothers he seemed to be very close to.

_Anthony has three brothers too._

Oh, how you wished to show yourself out!

You deemed it necessary to try and be an obedient daughter and debutante, for your family's sake at the very least. Being courted was exatcly the reason behind coming to London’s milieu in the first place and just beacuse the man courting you wasn’t Anthony _did not_ mean he was not worth your while.

Besides, you were a marchioness! Title just under the duke, higher than all your suitors. Anthony couldn’t get all of your attention even if he became a Janeite. Oliver Greenwill, on the other hand, now did not stand a chance. He could wave your hand in marriage goodbye!

The thought had your heart racing, the relief so sudden you almost collapsed. If it weren’t for Rickard’s arm holding yours you most likely would’ve met the ground.

It should have been easy for Anthony then. All he had to do was woo your mother off her feet. He had already done so without even realizing it, as Y/MN already believed Violet Bridgerton raised the best man she possibly could.

It wasn't your intention to compare the Earl’s dirty blonde hair, broad shoulders and eyes to Anthony’s... The action came to you naturally. 

But why did your father have to give the Earl a shot? He was Anthony's biggest rival!

_"I will be coming for you tomorrow."_

It sure looked like it.

You huffed, fixed on a smile and allowed the Earl to show you around the park like you were there for the very first time.

Anthony was going to have to try harder.

_A lot_ harder.

***

The three brothers rode through Hyde park highly on their horses, their chins raised considerably in what looked the utmost of viscount pride, and the hats on their heads ranged from longer to shorter. As always, the three brothers were everything mamas could wish for their daughters. From impeccable looks to their wit and politeness.

But none of them were to be married this season, save for Anthony.

That was the plan at least. A plan that even Lady Whistledown cheered on.

And that knowledge had mamas grumbling under their breath.

"Good God, do they ever stop staring?" Muttered Colin with a torturous sigh, barely holding himself together when every second face who had caught his eye reflected a generous amount of hearts in their eyes.

"I'm afraid not, brother," replied Anthony curtly, proceeding to give a mama a smile from under his hat. She blushed hurriedly, and significantly more than her daughter.

"Oh, would you look at that."

Benedict's amused words had both the older and younger brother interested, "Look at what?" Asked Colin.

"Future Viscountess Bridgerton... _I hope_ ," Mused Benedict, looking at where you stood with the young Earl, feeding the white birds tentatively. You could be seen laughing, though looking a bit frightened by the lot of them. "With Rickard Thorne of all people."

" _Lies_ ," Colin replied with a hint of teasing in his voice. It didn't take long before realization dawned upon him. "Anthony, brother… I trust you sent her flowers this morning?"

Anthony's jaw ticked, as he looked between the Earl and you dangerously. Benedict's warning nudge was what pulled him out of his trance. "Of course, I did."

Anthony felt irritated with you suddenly. He watched from afar, mesmerized with how beautiful you looked. Your light-colored bonnet had a single job of protecting you from the sun, but you kept glancing at the sky every so often and enjoying its warmth. Anthony felt his heart quicken. He found himself thinking _'You had one job Y/N._ '

He remembered his carefully picked roses he hoped would convey you the message. By the looks of it, you didn't dechiper it.

"You sent her flowers but failed to pay her a visit?!"

_The bouquet of flowers I arranged myself,_ the eldest brother found himself wanting to say.

"I had been told," said Anthony slowly, as if speaking any faster would cause a great deal of brain damage to his younger brothers. " _By her father_...that I was going to be given her hand."

Colin muttered profanities under his breath, almost giving up on his brother at that moment. "Should you continue to behave like _that_ I believe taking her to Gretna Green might just be your best bet."

" _Now_ I know why he is not the marrying type."

"Good God Benedict, would you just shut it?" Anthony heaved a torturous sigh. 

"Why, brother?” Came his reply, “I must admit, I have not had this much fun on your behalf since we were boys."

"I wonder why…"

"Good one Colin."

Back by the river, the remains of your bread have been carefully arranged for the swans to eat comfortably. You curved your lips in delight, tilting your head at the Earl with a smile. “This is rather adventurous, don’t you think my Lord?”

But the Earl had his eyes trained elsewhere, your innocent question slipping right past his ears.

His lack of response had you confused, but before you could inquire about it a sudden fair amount of shade dropped over you. The sun had been blocked, the unusual nature behind it making you look straight ahead and into…

A horse.

Furrowing your brows, you drew your head to look at the rider and gasped.

"Rickard," said Anthony with a handsome smile, the iciness a permanent resident in his dark eyes. "Lady Y/LN. What a delightful coincidence to see you both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, you lovely person! If you liked what you read you can check out my Tumblr writing account under @shelby-love and dive in to see my other work! Much love x


	3. Rightly His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced to take matters into his own hands, Anthony finds himself at odds with the 6th Marquess of Cambridge. However will the viscount fight for your hand, and will your biggest secret be revealed to the world?

_Uh oh._

The simple exclamation like that was the fruit of many bottled feelings inside of you, and though not voiced out loud, the notion still held an appropriate amount of pressure on you. So much so that your pelisse felt _incredibly_ tight in that moment.

On a normal day, the sight of _three_ (not one or two but three) Bridgerton brothers wouldn't faze you as much, even though Anthony felt like forbidden fruit every time he was in near vicinity. It was talent, being able to resist the charms the three most eligible bachelors had. Having Daphne as the closest of friends tends to serve you well in that department.

Not today, apparently.

Positive that your palms were sweating under your silky gloves, you did the first thing that came to your mind when you were nervous.

You clung to the person next to you.

It was subtle, the way your hand tightened around Rickard's taut muscle. So subtle you hadn't expected for it to be caught. 

Anthony seized the union of your locked arms, openly showing the storm within his dark irises. His dark, formidable horse let out an annoyed grunt, shaking his head as if he needed to let go of some steam — preferably on an open field and not in the crowded Hyde Park.

Lord Thorne took a protective step in front of you, acting as a human shield in case of the horse going berserk. He looked calm as he addressed your beloved.

If that's who Anthony was to you.

You were anything but sure about that particular fact.

"I was given the assumption that you Bridgerton's knew how to behave around a lady," said the earl, tilting his head whilst his eyes danced around the three brothers.

You were promptly placed behind him, by now completely sure you had drawn attention to yourself as you caught eyes of several members of the ton, glancing at you.

The attention that threatened to strike, as a marchioness, you couldn't allow yourself to be associated with. Your father wouldn't be so pleased with you. "My lords, should it not be best on all our parts if we took this somewhere… a tad bit more private?"

"I must say that I agree with Miss Y/LN," said Rickard promptly, his blond curls framing his face as he fixed a loose strand behind his ear. "Our little escapade is far from over, and I wouldn't want business to get in the way."

His words were serious, but the tone was light. A common thing Benedict did in those situations was try and suppress a laugh—or a snort. Colin, too, had started to fight the curves of his lips that warned to spiral into a mocking smirk.

"Oh, we are not here to do business with you Thorne," replied Anthony, his words matching the seriousness of his voice. A shudder sneaked down your back, dancing along your spine until you felt warm and weird all over. "Miss Y/LN here, is our sister's dear friend. We are here to give her Daphne's regards."

Anthony's brooding turned into hostility, making Colin butt in with a dashing smile. "Our mother and sister would love for you to join them for tea, whenever it is you are free of course."

"Oh… Certainly," you mused, catching the surprise and masking it with a polite smile. "I quite missed Daphne."

Benedict nodded, almost as if he understood you. "Our dear sister _is_ endearing," he said, "I must say I am not surprised."

You almost laughed at his comment, glad to have common ground to talk about without drowning in awkwardness. Anthony smirked ever-so-slightly.

"I heard she is quite busy these days." You said, fixing your bonnet with your free hand, your reticule sliding down your arm to the elbow. "With the duke courting her and all."

"From who? Lady Whistledown?"

Colin was quick to slice through Benedict's comment, preserving whatever secrecy the Bridgerton's would let you in so Lord Thorne did not hear. "I believe that is something worth discussing over tea and biscuits, don’t you think?"

"You are quite the negotiator, my lord."

"Great words coming from you." Colin said, tipping his hat in your direction charmingly.

All to bring out a reaction out of his eldest brother.

Anthony glared at him.

"I too agree with Colin. You must visit." He was quick to regain himself, looking at you with intensity only perceptible to you. "But before we go, and forgive me for being so frank, but I do wonder… Have you received my flowers, Miss Y/LN? I had an intention of stopping by for a quick visit—although it seems to me that _someone_ has beat me to it."

Manly glares are exchanged, ones you do not understand, but try your best to interpretate, nevertheless. Colin and Benedict looked between each other, looking as if they knew something you didn't.

Anthony…

He was brooding. Quite heavily. 

"I'm afraid so Anthony," Rickard replied, casually. He glanced down at you with his crystal-like eyes, watching you as if he adored you already. " _I_ was graced with the lady's attention for the day."

"And Arabella's," You added, trying to lighten the tension and stop the cringey grimace that threatened to surface due to the uncomfortableness of the situation. You looked over your shoulder, nodding toward your hidden chaperone.

"Of course," The earl agreed with a proud smile. He turned to the brothers, looking more interested in Anthony. "Well, if that is all, I'm afraid we take our leave."

"It was lovely to see you, my lords." You piped in, nodding politely.

"Certainty." Anthony replied curtly, sounding more like he was snarling the word in anger. His grip on the reigns was sure to engrave some patterns into his skin and leave nasty red marks. "Have a lovely day."

***

You walked through the gardens, holding the society papers in your hands. Every time a passing staff brushed by you; the paper would disappear behind your back. It wasn't graceful, but very much obvious. Thankfully, people didn't seem to care as they spared you a bow and a smile.

Taking a seat in the lone part of the garden, you took a deep breath, praying that the gossip you were about to read wasn't about you.

_My dearest reader, I feel the need to discuss the oh so charming tangerine Miss Penelope Featherington seemed to be wearing for the biggest part of the season. Surely—_

"My Lady," a soft voice called.

It was so subtle and quiet that there wasn't a chance for it to scare you. But it did.

Placing the paper under your dress, you turned around to face the woman who looked like she did a great deal of running before she found you. "Yes?"

"Your mother is looking for you."

You furrowed your brows, confusion coloring your face. "Did she perhaps share why?"

"No, I'm afraid she has not, my Lady." She replied with a light shake of her head.

You huffed, every dream about secretively reading through Whistledown's words going down the river of failure. "Very well. Thank you."

She scurried into the flowers, her dark green dress camouflaging her so she became one with the leaves. There was no point in milking the time you didn't have, and you realized that fairly quickly as you stood up, brushed out the non-existent creases and vanished out of the brimming garden.

Inside the manor, you faced the walls of your temporary home and heaved a sigh. You had always liked the garden better, and now after Anthony shared his knowledge of roses with you, spending time among the greenery became your favorite past time.

As you walked up the stairs, a sudden slam came from beneath you. It was so sudden and strong you knew it wasn't normal.

" _Lord Bridgerton_ you cannot—"

You gasped loudly, widening your eyes until they were round with fear. There were many Lord Bridgertons that could've invaded your home, though you were positive such aggression wouldn't be the product of Colin, nor Benedict for that matter.

"Anthony..." You mumbled, or more like growled, under your breath. Pumping your legs to skate along the stairwell, you pushed until you were safe next to the gold encrusted railings. You could feel the patterns of the gold threads under your palm, but you ignored them, choosing to grip the railing even tighter.

You watched as Anthony barged through the house with his head held up high and no smile gracing his handsome features. In his gloved hand he held his hat, showing just enough of respect to the household.

He didn't look like he was stopping any time soon as poor Simmons, as old as he was, chased after him in a speed-walk.

You pushed yourself from the railing, grabbed fistfuls of your dress and made a dash for your room.

"Grace, Grace, Grace!"

You found your maid in your closet, sorting through your new array of colorful dresses the modiste had dropped off while you spent time with the earl.

"Yes, my Lady?" She asked politely, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "What seems to be the matter?"

" _He_ is _here_!" You screeched, slamming the door shut and pacing around the only place you could be yourself.

The room was smartly decorated, and in a way that was luxurious enough to be the room of a marchioness. Themed in a soft pale green, your room for the duration of the season was more than enough. A king-sized bed was stationed against the far wall, framing the room so it fit him in every way. Adorned in matching flowery patterns was your dressing screen, along with your curtains, which were slung back so the natural light of the spring sun could stream inside and your.

Beside you was your writing desk, the letters you intended to send nested neatly inside the wooden box. Several of them adressed to the object of your obsession.

"Who is, my—"

"Anthony! _Bloody_ … Anthony!" You said, quite loudly.

Grace visibly flinched at your tone, though not in a way that would give a feeling of fear, more so in a way that looked like a reaction to your yells. She winced, rubbing her ear. "I—"

"I understand, Grace. I am speechless too." You cut her off, marching across the warm carpet. After sitting on your bed, you continued with the same amount of annoyance. "I mean, how dare he?! That chauvinistic— Grace where is my parasol? Quick we must make haste!"

"My Lady, I—"

"Haste Grace! Hurry!"

She didn't have to be told twice, dropping the dress onto your bed and coming back with a pale blue parasol that matched your dress. "You are always so perfect."

"I try my best," she replied modestly, watching as you stood up from your bed, determination setting in your brow. 

"Let us go."

***

"What game are you playing?"

Anthony's voice boomed through the study, and you clutched your weapon in your hands, readying yourself to slip a lie of how you were going to take a walk outside should anyone question why you were posted outside the study.

"What is he saying?" You whispered with a fair amount of urgency in your voice,

Grace shook her head, not knowing what to say, she pushed you forward. "A game?" Came your father's reply; you could practically see him in his chair. "Surely you do not think my daughter is a game, son."

With wide eyes, you pointed to yourself with your parasol in shock.

For the first time, Grace had rolled her eyes at your surprise. "Of course, they're talking about you, my Lady!"

You leaned toward the door and pushed it ever so slightly, feeling relief wash over you when it creaked open just enough. You felt her hands grip your dress in fear of you losing your balance and falling face first inside the room.

It happened before.

"I am not—" Anthony began, his hat was discarded on a lone chair as he looked straight at your father.

_He has a pretty derriere._

Your cheeks reddened at the thought.

" _My son_ ," the marquess finished, "Of that I am well aware, Lord Bridgerton. Indeed, you do not see me prance around London telling everybody that you are my son, do you now?"

You shook your head and turned to Grace, " _Sarcasm_."

She let out a soft 'Oh.' and nodded to herself, probably connecting the dots and realizing why you had a such witty, snappy and fiery personality.

"I—"

"Forgive me for being so forward. Whiskey?" Your father proposed, changing his words elegantly as if he was diverting the subject to something else. When Anthony didn't reply, only did what you thought was glare broodingly at the liquid, your father heaved a sigh and poured himself a fair amount. "Very well."

He took a sip, like he had all the time in the world. "It is in my best intention— _Lord Bridgerton_ —to marry my daughter to a man for who I know shall cherish her. Lord Thorne has proven to be—"

With guts you didn't know he had, Anthony banged a fist against the dark oak, "You promised her to me!" He barked in anger. "Before the Season I came to _you_ and asked for her hand."

He then spread his arms wide as if asking where is was.

"Oh, heavens! When did that happen?” Grace mumbled, covering her mouth with her palm while she blushed. You could only nod your head at her sudden forwardness, the fact being new to you and very much exciting.

_He asked for my hand._

"I break promises, son," Came his reply. Your father sounded casual, not a trace of regret in his voice. "My daughter is the finest example of my deeds. I am not proud of them, however—"

 _Aristocratic chauvinistic bastard._ His every word was true, and you looked back at your Maid with a nod, changing your grip on the baby blue parasol, digging it into the ground and turning it as if doing so would sharpen the tip so it was _deadly_. "I shall skewer him with my parasol one day, Grace."

"And I shall assist you, my Lady."

This time, you did turn around to grin at the girl. "Great! I'm so excited you'll come along!"

Back in the study, Anthony spoke with a softer tune in his tone. "Why?"

"Come again?"

"What kind of a man are you?!" He was back yelling, "We made a deal! No one courts her save for _me_."

"You allow yourself too much," Your father said breezily, you could see his eyes harden from where you were peeping inside. "Such questions have no right to leave your mouth… Not after what you did."

"What _I_ did?"

"You tainted my daughter!"

Silence overcame the whole room. Time seemed to stop.

"My Lady?" Grace asked hurriedly, coming to your side after she saw you slump against the wall.

_Oh no._

"No, no, no..." You found yourself mumbling, though shaking her helping hands off. The wish to stay was winning over every other need. You were overwhelmed with emotions, your blood having ran cold the moment those words left his mouth.

_He knows._

"You foolish boy," The marquess tsked, anger evident in his eyes. "Should you really think I would let my _only_ daughter into the world without men tailing behind her at all times? Before the marchioness of Cambridge, Y/N is a Y/LN. And I take good care of my family."

"Though apparently not good enough," he continued, sipping his drink before letting the glass fall to the desk. "Allowing her to—"

"She returned it."

Y/FN jumped to his feet, "How dare you speak of my daughter in such way?!"

"I kissed her, and I deeply apologize for what I did, but I stand behind my actions." Said the viscount. A sense of pride swell up in your chest, the tiniest bit of light giving you hope for the future.

Did your father really know all this time? You shuddered at the thought of dining with him, not knowing that he was aware of events that took place a year ago.

"Then why didn't you take her hand?! You tainted my daughter's innocence _and_ refused to marry her!" He was yelling, his voice booming with such force that you took a step back. For a second, you feared the possibility of a duel taking place the next dawn, but it diminished quickly when you remembered that your father would never get his hands bloody.

He had others to do it for him.

"I could not! Not then at least." Anthony replied, his voice getting quieter the more he neared the end of the sentence. He looked at the his shiny riding boots for several long moments before his gaze went to your father again.

After being momentarily silent, your father _chuckled_.

"Circling back to Edmond, are we not?"

"Certainty, my Lord."

"Very well then." Said your father calmly, whatever storm brew between them diminishing with the words. You furrowed your brows, not understanding a thing the two were suddenly on about.

" _Men_." You muttered.

"You should be thankful no one caught you in such compromising position. But son—" the older man began, "—my daughter will not be on the firing end of your demons. Should you not marry her and prove to me that you indeed do love and care for her, I shall marry her to Lord Thorne whose father I too was very close to."

"You ca—"

"I believe that I have the last word in my home, Lord Bridgerton."

Those were the last words you caught, as Anthony's reply was much quieter. Neither one of you heard what he whispered about, but the shuffling of papers was enough to let you know what they were currently doing.

You would've stayed longer had Grace not pulled you by your wrist, maneuvering your body around the manor until you were situated in a lone hall.

"I shall ring for a coachman immediately if you wish to flee the country, my Lady."

"There will not be a need for such measures, Grace."

"Are you certain?"

"No."

***

Something in the air was different. You watched as your father wore a pleased smile on his face, thinking you were oblivious to what had occurred mere hours ago. "Father."

"Ah, Y/N," he replied, a soft sing-like tune under his tone. "My darling daughter, how may I be of assistance?"

"I couldn't help but notice," you started, quickening your pace until you were walking through the gardens with him. Staff would step aside, watching in awe as the marquess walked with his only daughter. "That Lord Bridgerton paid you a visit."

His smile didn't falter, "Indeed."

You frowned, "And? Whatever did he say?"

"Nothing that is of interest to you."

"Dang it," you mumbled, noticing how he wasn't going to waver.

_Best get this over with._

"Father, I know you know."

"Come again?" Your father turned around once you stopped in your tracks, the creases in his face evidence that he indeed knew what you were talking about.

"I—" You began, trembling with fear. Many things could go wrong, you realized. His relationship with you could take a drastic turn and you realized that you didn’t want that. "Will you marry me to Lord Thorne, Father?"

The older man watched you carefully, something clearly clouding his mind. He looked as if he swallowed whatever words he initially wanted to say, "There will be a caller for you at four."

Then, the marquess did what he hadn’t done since you were a child.

Your father leaned in and kissed your forehead. He looked regretful as he looked down on you, his warm hands on your arms. You felt warm inside, though not the same kind of warm when you were with Anthony. His warmth was burning, passionate and lustful. Sinful even, in some cases. But the tenderness of this kiss was loving, _protective_. Only a daughter could share this with her father. You felt safe. "Forgive me."

And with that, your father left you to your own thoughts.

***

At four in the afternoon sharp, Anthony Bridgerton found himself at your doorstep. His gloved hand merely knocked against the door twice before he was let in, shielded from the eager eyes of the ton that kept glancing toward the manor in passing. Perhaps not even in passing, some were there to see whether Lady Whistledown’s column was true.

Simmons didn't utter a word in his way, having been informed of your engagement to the viscount beforehand.

Yes, _your engagement._

***

**2 HOURS AGO**

_"I believe that I have the last word in my home, Lord Bridgerton."_

_The viscount wasn't fazed; he placed his palms against the desk, looking as regal as the 6 th Marquess of Cambridge, if not even more. There seemed to be a fiery flame around him, a glow of young determination. "My demons will not touch a hair on her head."_

_He lowered his voice further, "I am only asking for her hand. I assure you… Lord Thorne will not make her happy."_

_"What are you suggesting?" Your father replied, "That you will?"_

_"I already did." He informed, "At the ball. At my home. She is at her happiest when she is with me, as I am when I’m with her."_

_Anthony glanced behind him, feeling a sense of privacy invasion wash over him. He pushed himself from the desk and walked toward the door, noticing how it was opened just barely. But beyond that, no one seemed to be lurking behind. "I shall be back at four."_

_"Wait!"_

_The viscount smirked, lips curling devilishly. His hand still gripped the doorknob, "Yes?"_

_Your father's face was hard and aloof, but his eyes danced with emotion. Fear. "Are you certain that she will be happy with you?"_

_"If you knew your daughter," said Anthony. "Then you wouldn't have to ask me that."_

***

Anthony found you sitting in the drawing room, alone.

His lips curved into a pleased smile. _Perfect_.

You were looking into space, seemingly lost in your thoughts. The world around you was quieter, he noticed, almost as if you took everything in slowly. There didn't seem to be a wish for a witty remark, as you looked worried.

Upon hearing the door close behind him, you looked up, the tea on your lap shaking dangerously in its cup. You were startled by Anthony, but he swooped in to grasp the handle of the teacup as a measure to apologize. "You frightened me."

He couldn't help but smile as he set the cup on the table, "I did?"

The rebellious light in you dimmed for the first time, urging you to stand up in a spectacle of dresses and apprehension. "We mustn't be alone."

"There will be no need for a chaperone, Y/N."

Your breathing hitched when you felt his eyes on your back. His name on your lips was reserved for only the night. Never beyond the night.

"I believe—"

The viscount's brows bunched together in subtle worry; he stood up and came to your alarmed side immediately. "Why do you look so frightened, Y/N?"

An onset of tears was threatening to spill, "My father knows about us and I—I think he is going to marry me to Lord Thorne."

Anthony shook his head, "That is not possible."

"Of course, it is Anthony!" You fumed, "I spoke to him merely an hour ago. He didn't explicitly say it, but he must've—"

"He will not."

"What are you on about?" You asked him, his conversation with your father lingering in the back of your mind, "You haven't proven yourself yet."

It took a second to realize what words had left your mouth. You prayed he didn’t catch on.

Luckily he did not.

Anthony grabbed your arm in his, pulling you to his chest with a simple tug. By the look on his face, it felt as though he was going to be giving a speech very soon. " _You_ will not marry Rickard. Or any man for that matter."

Your heart did a sad flip, "I wish it was that easy Anthony."

"But what if it was?" He asked, looking at you expectantly through long dark eyeslashes. "Would you marry me then?"

"Of course I would,” you replied sternly, placing your cold hand on his cheek.

The viscount leaned into your touch, “Then marry me.”

“But my father—”

“Your father already gave me your hand,” the rake whispered, and like he couldn’t help his desires, ran his hands down your arms, leaving shivers on his wake. “There is no other man for you but me. You are _mine_.”

The word was so simple that it came to surprise you with the amount of power it held. Even with the layers of clothing that acted as a protective shield, you felt every bit unclothed, your body itching for his talented mouth on every part. You didn’t dare to stop him when he explored you in a way you weren’t explored before. His mouth trailing kisses on your exposed shoulder, the sleeve of your dress having slipped down your arm with a simple tug of his elegant finger. “Perfect.”

His voice was warm against your skin, so low and primal you had mistaken it for a purr. “Absolutely perfect.”

Before a soft groan could escape, he cupped your chin and brought you to him. The fire that had ingnited a year ago used to be an ember, though right at that moment — it was a flame. Scorching hot and breathtaking.

Anthony was demanding, his lips gliding with yours in the rhythm of your hearts. He explored your mouth throughoutly, leaving you breathless. “We mustn’t—”

He was far too strong, teasing and playing until he was satisfied. His words didn’t hold much meaning, not while your body responded in the way it did.

After pulling away, the viscount watched as you fumbled with your dress, flushed from your cheeks to your neck. A smirk played on his lips, continuing to dance on his face even when he helped you with the disobeying chemise.

The sight of you like that — unruly and disoriented, all because of his touch.

It was very pleasing.

“What if I told you,” he started. “We are to be married in five days from now. “

You mulled over the thought in your head. “I would not be surprised. “

“How so?”

Slowly, you sat back down on the pale couch. “You were very, _er_ , loud when you arrived to speak with my father.”

Your words were a mess that did not make sense to him. At least until he thought them over in his head.

Then it dawned him. “You were _there_? Listening?”

Letting out a sound that sounded more like a huff, you shook your head proudly. “Not at all! I was merely just observing...”

Anthony laughed.

 _Laughed_.

It diminished once you graced him with a glare, “Of course. A perfectly reasonable observation. I too would do the same were I in your place.”

You nodded, mind darting back to his previous words. “What were you saying about us getting married again?”

“Right!” He exclaimed, as if he had forgotten the object of his own obsession. “Given that you heard the majority of the conversation, I ought to just get on with it.”

“I agree.”

“We will marry in five days.”

“Marry?”

Silence.

“In _five_ days?!”

“I hope that is—”

“That is not nearly enough time!”

“I believe our mothers will find the time to be—”

“Short. Not thought through. Awfully anti—”

As you continued to list every noun and adjective to describe the date of your wedding, Anthony had realized a simple thing.

Life with you in it wasn’t going to be dull.

“Are you certain, Anthony?”

He didn’t hear your question, but whatever you had asked him, he thought, he will answer with a yes. That’s just how much he loved you. “Of course I am certain.”

“You will spend a fortune on the wedding,” you reminded. “All of my dresses, and gloves and parasols.”

“Not an issue.” He replied honestly.

“Really?”

“For you,” Anthony said with a smile. “Anything.”

Just as you were about to respond, Grace rushed into the room, for the first time not announcing herself. “My Lady! Your mother is back and since you decided against fleeing the country—”

Anthony watched as you hissed at your Maid in an attempt to keep her quiet. Your words worked only after a waterfall of thoughts and exclemations gushed out of Garce’s mouth.

Anthony clapped his hands, nodding toward your friend in a greeting. “Let us announce our engagement to the world.”

The viscount smiled, extending his arm for you to take.

It was going to happen sooner or later— your wedding — and while it might have been a marriage forced to be seen through by compromising circumstances of your past relations with the viscount, it was certainly the fruit of love too.

Whatever happened with the two of you and however many suitors that were on your tail, followed by a dozen more of women from his past life as a rake had been pushed aside. Only after doing so did did the future seem bright.

And Lady Whistledown was going to recognize that.

**ONE WEEK LATER**

_Finally my dear reader, the Bridgerton family have welcomed their Viscountess. Y/N has gracefully jumped from one title to another, showing the ton just how ready she is to be a Viscountess. Having reigned in a rake, she has set an example other girls can only dream of and as the Author of this very column you are currently reading, I must say —Congratulations._

_We must all congratulate her on such fine handlement of the deed. Even This Author must say just how pleased she is with the result. Despite the differences with the Viscountess, This Author is happy to point out that her early predictions for this Seasons were in fact, correct._

_Ambitious Lady Bridgerton has been successful in marrying off her eldest son and daughter in a span of a single Season. Now were those unions the consequence of scandals... This Author shall find out._

_But until that moment, let us enjoy the knowledge This Author has obtained._

_The first ball Anthony Bridgerton and Y/N Bridgerton will hold as Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton will be…_

_Red._

_Just like their marriage, This Author presumes._

_LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, you lovely person! If you liked what you read you can check out my Tumblr writing account under @shelby-love and dive in to see my other work! Much love x


End file.
